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L-E-A-P-O-F-F-A-I-T-H
Claire tucked her coat under her arm, running a minimum hundred-point-four degrees after her skating lesson. As she neared the impractical car, she found Ryder still parked, engine running to stay warm, phone to his ear, hand gesturing madly, engrossed in a heated debate. She knew she hadn’t been gone long enough, but she couldn’t stay at the rink any longer. With every second spent with her skating partner, she felt herself ripping apart at the seams.
Although she had completely humiliated herself, she’d had a great time doing so. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. Hell, her abs already ached and would for days.
She rolled her eyes at herself. Always greener pastures, right? She had a foundation with Ryder. If this week went well, and they made up for the last few months of the widening crevasse that had grown between them, she’d be glad she stuck with him. Ryder was everything she wanted: smart, handsome, successful. When they’d met, she could swear he had a sense of humor and had been doting. Hadn’t he?
It was natural to have crushes on attractive men, despite being in a long-term relationship, right? Her mom was certain that Ryder was planning to pop the question on the trip. That would be great. Next step. He probably had the ring in his suitcase. He’d want to make a big fuss with flowers and champagne, down on one knee.
Lucky thing she wouldn’t have to see her sexy hockey player again. She’d avoid the skating rink, and she’d be gone soon. No harm, no foul. A good reminder that life wasn’t a romance novel.
She tossed her coat in the backseat, grabbed her book, and hopped in the passenger seat next to Ryder. Only a minute or two passed before she realized she was holding her book upside down. Right about the time she saw her handsome stranger walking out to the shiny black Forerunner parked a few spaces away in the otherwise empty lot.
Grateful the windows of the rental car were tinted, she watched as he tossed his skates into the back. Rather violently, actually. After slamming the driver’s door behind him, he ran a hand through his unruly blond hair before smacking his forehead into the steering wheel.
A loopy grin took over her expression. She couldn’t help but feel chills, fabulous jitters of excitement, that he was as thrown by their meeting as she was.
“What happened to the swimsuit theme I’d submitted? He’s approaching this all wrong.” Ryder’s voice edged at her raw nerves.
Now or never. Fate was a nasty bitch, and she refused to ruin something magical for a chance at rekindling what was a terrible relationship to begin with.
Remember the old Claire? The one who didn’t accept a B-minus in Anatomy and Physiology, sophomore year of college? The Claire who socked Jimmy Porter in the nose when he grabbed her ass at junior prom? Or the Claire that aced her first round of clinicals despite the flu, a sprained ankle, and a broken wrist, all in one semester?
Claire Dabney let nothing get in the way of what she wanted. She rotated away from Ryder and opened the car door. Ready to throw out the book and chase him down, she looked around and realized he was gone.
The thundering in her chest lurched, the adrenaline hammering over her like the August summer sun on her paint-chipped sedan. She released the door handle and lowered back into her seat. Overthinking bit her in the ass. Nothing new there.
Maybe fate was telling her something after all. Appreciate what you’ve got, as anything as miraculous as you think you may have experienced—when you’re tired and burned out—is fleeting and will fizzle out as fast as a meteor in the sky. Despite her best efforts to muster a poker face, the disappointment was just too deep, and her face drooped like a candle set too close to a fire, her tear ducts leaking hot acid.
Think about something else. Anything. Hip replacement, neutering, gangrenous splinters...
Not working.
She opened her book.
Ryder’s meeting didn’t last too much longer, thank goodness. Within ten minutes of glaring at her stupid romance novel with the stupid happy couple that traveled through time to find each other, Ryder was scheduling a follow-up call for tomorrow and hanging up. Fiction. The book was a trivial piece of fiction that provided a nice distraction on the flight up. Nothing more. People didn’t find that sort of connection. Why did people read this tripe?
“Have a good time?” Ryder asked her as he drove out of the parking lot.
Scrunching her eyebrows together, Claire considered her response. “I’m a terrible skater.”
“I could have told you that.” Chuckling, Ryder drove through the rest of the lovely little town toward the mountains. Really lovely. But she suspected it would be nothing more than the annual visits to the sweet little town at a maximum, even if they moved to Seattle.
She blinked back the acid in her eyes and responded in her clearest voice. “Hey, I’d never skated before. You never know, maybe I was gifted at it but had never had the chance to find out.” Not likely, but worth dreaming.
“Babe, you can barely dance.” There were those irritating dimples.
“I’m not that bad of a dancer. I’m agile and graceful. Hey, I can reduce an equine rectal prolapse with my eyes closed. How many people do you know who can say that?” Claire found her smile, flashing him a shit-eating grin. Apparently, making him uncomfortable was a great way to improve her mood.
Flying around an icy looking corner, he turned off the main road onto a pristinely smooth driveway. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds disgusting. Please don’t say anything like that in front of my parents.”
Claire ignored the comment and looked around. How could he not love Foothills? The long driveway was flanked with massive evergreen trees, branches hanging low, and heavily frosted, winterized maples created a mystical canopy overhead.
Then the house came into view. Holy shit, Claire, you’re in way over your head. Her eyes gaped open, and her tongue grew thick and dry and a little itchy, like she’d been chewing on alfalfa all afternoon. This was not the northwest ranch she’d imagined when he described his logging mogul stepfather and his mother’s fondness for horses.
Painted immaculately snow white with black trim and a black roof, the house stood grandly over the massive estate. Even the entrance was intimidating. Topiary-trimmed hedges flanked a solid black wooden door, and the doorstep was wide enough to fit her entire family. Ryder parked the flashy car and hopped out. Claire followed along behind, remaining as unobtrusive as possible. “Shouldn’t we get the bags?” she whispered behind him.
“I’ll get them later. Let’s head inside. I need a drink.”
Before they reached the front door, it swung wide open. An ancient woman with thick gray hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, dressed in black jeans and a purple cable-knit sweater, greeted them. Claire hoped this was his mother, but wasn’t optimistic at this point. And she looked nothing like him. “Ryder, it’s about time. Your flight landed hours ago.”
“Hattie. It’s good to see you.” He smiled and accepted the woman’s warm hug.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to our guest?” Hattie smiled widely and peered around Ryder to get a good look at Claire.
With a deep breath, pasting on her friendliest expression, Claire bravely stepped forward. This woman was approachable and clearly not his mother. “Hi. I’m Claire.”
Before she knew what hit her, rather than taking her offered hand for a casual greeting, the woman dragged her into in a firm embrace. “Welcome, Claire. I’m glad Ryder found you. You’re just the sweetest thing, aren’t you? Come on in, let’s get you settled. You must be worn out after a long day of traveling.” The woman rattled away, not leaving room for awkward silence as Claire struggled to catch her balance. “I’m Hattie. Most would consider me the housekeeper, but I’m a woman-of-all-trades. I keep things running around here and am your point of contact for anything you might need or want. Mostly, I keep these boys in line.” She winked at Claire behind Ryder’s back. She pulled back and squeezed Claire’s hand, face scrunched in an eager grin as she guided Claire into the house.
“Thank you, Hattie. I’d love to freshen up.”
Inside, Claire’s intimidation fired right back up again at the sight of the imposing foyer. Expansive white tile floor covered the area, looking remarkably similar to the ice she’d biffed it on earlier. Beyond the foyer, a stately parlor with white carpeting and white sofas and white pillows and white blankets overlooked the mountains through a mammoth wall of invisibly clean windows. That window was the real gem of the house, the one appeal she’d found so far. With its inspiring view of the snowcapped Cascades, she felt like an eagle catching an updraft, soaring from peak to peak. Despite the roaring fire inside the grand fireplace, and the stack of white and cream-colored knit blankets rolled and artfully displayed in a basket under the sofa table, the room remained cold and unwelcoming.
Hattie led them up the stairs on the left and down a long, wide hallway until they reached the suite on the end. “This is the blue room. Make yourself at home. Dinner is in an hour.” Hattie squeezed her hand again, as if sensing her complete lack of ease, and left her alone with Ryder.
Ryder went straight for one of the facing leather chairs in the sitting room and plopped his feet onto the wagon-wheel coffee table in the middle, groaning and looking markedly unrelaxed as he settled in for a long vacation. Off to the right, there was a robin’s egg blue wall with a shaggy cow picture hanging in the center, and through a set of French doors on the left, was a bedroom that could be featured in a magazine. Expensive-looking tree-stump side-tables surrounded the rustic iron bedframe, and a blue and white railroad striped duvet capped off the designer look.
Claire turned toward Ryder, hoping they could sit and veg before meeting his parents. Her limbs were tingling with too many nerves to even attempt the feat at the moment. If they were half as intimidating as the house, she’d never fit in. In the time she’d taken to scope out their suite, he’d poured himself a glass of whiskey and was back in his chair. “Hey, Claire. Why don’t you go freshen up a bit, get changed, and we’ll head down for dinner? Sounds like Patricia will be home from work soon.”
“I guess I don’t normally ‘dress for dinner.’ Is this a formal thing?” She cringed, imagining having to dress for dinner each night that she was here. Despite her over-packed suitcase, she hadn’t exactly planned for multiple outfit changes each day.
He rolled his eyes and chuckled. Stupid dimples again. “No. Washingtonians don’t ‘dress for dinner’ as a general rule. Your butt’s wet from the ice.”
“Oh. Ok.” Ribs heavy from exhaustion, Claire headed into the bathroom to freshen up, as directed. By the time she got back, she found Ryder rolling in with their suitcases. Whether or not this was a dressy affair, she felt she ought to step it up a bit. She pulled on a black plaid skirt over cable-knit tights, adding knee-high boots and a rose-colored sweater. Close enough.
As she walked out of the bedroom, Ryder’s dimples softened. “Hey. Thanks again for doing this.”
“What?”
“Coming up to meet my family. It’s been way too long since I’ve been home.”
“Of course.”
He reached out and took her hands, pulling her against him. Bracing one hand on each of her cheeks, he kissed her slow and easy. “It’s been a long haul for us both. I don’t know what I was thinking, bringing you here for our first real vacation and not having wrapped up the vodka campaign first. Next time, let’s go someplace we can relax and be ourselves.”
Nodding sadly, she feigned a smile, wishing she could remember what that meant. Had she ever seen Ryder relax?
Grady dashed up the left stairs to the guest suites and let himself in the first door on the right. Not his childhood bedroom, as that had been converted into a craft room years ago. Not that anyone around here crafted, so the room was largely an experiment in dust collecting. If dust were allowed in this house.
Now that he was an adult, he was to stay in one of the larger guest quarters. If he ever found a wife, it would be more suiting. So said his mother.
He was assigned to the green room. And it was very green. Olive green area rug, lime green modern art on the wall, forest green sheets, drab green towels. It was rather tempting to call the army to see if they wanted any ideas for a new camo design, although some of these shades did not exist in nature. Some would call it on-trend. He called it nauseating.
Not that he was complaining. He was glad to have a roof over his head. After their rental house burned down a few weeks ago, Asher moved in with Sophie. Not much had been Asher’s anyway, as he’d already been transitioning to Sophie’s bit by bit. Grady, however, had been forced to start over, down to the socks and shampoo.
From the soot-covered shell of a house, not much had been salvageable. Most of his belongings had been so saturated with smoke, they would never have come clean, anyway. Right away, he’d been forced to reinvest in personal essentials. The rest, furniture and other odds-and-ends, could wait until he found his own place.
It had been four exceedingly long weeks at his mother and stepfather’s house. His own father had passed away before he was old enough to remember. Theoretically, Patricia was a romantic, as she’d kept his name, not changing when she married his half-sister Haley’s father, nor when she married Bill. But Grady knew it was because she liked the sound of Dr. Mallory, or, more importantly, it was the name she was already published under. Either way, as much as Patricia drove him nuts, she usually meant well and took pride in her children.
She’d married her second husband before Grady had even learned to walk. He’d been decent. And had given Grady and Ryder a sister, who had immediately steadied things. But when Grady was in high school, they divorced, and Haley moved with her dad to California. Husband number three wasn’t so bad, but by the time Bill Stellan came around, Grady had been nearly grown. So, the monstrosity of a house wasn’t exactly home.
Since he’d left for college, immediately after graduating from high school, right on schedule as expected, he visited as infrequently as possible. Somehow, he’d forgotten how pretentious they were. He’d grown up with Hattie, initially their au pair, and now the woman-of-all-trades, he supposed, but the rest of the staff were all new.
After staying at Black Op for as long as humanly possible, Grady hoped to hell he was late for dinner, but Hattie had waved at him on her way out and announced that he had half an hour to unwind before dinner. More, he was hoping to forget the woman who had broken his heart in less than half an hour’s time. He pulled a fresh pair of jeans from his underwhelming closet and changed out of his wet-butt jeans—thanks to his mystery woman—and into a dry pair. Not much to choose from, he snagged a fresh shirt as well. Thanks to the fire, he had about a week’s worth of clothes to his name, and would need to shop again when the season changed.
Why was he so messed up about a woman he hardly knew? Well, she was among many that he felt something for that was already spoken for. But there was something different about her.
Knock it off. You’re just in a self-pitying jag because your life sucks right now.
His mother would no doubt prefer he changed into nice slacks, and possibly a button-up, rather than the t-shirt and jeans. At some point, she’d figure out he didn’t care for her suggestions.
Burned out from the long day, he stretched out on the sage green couch, plopping feet up on the spruce green throw pillow. Why did he enjoy the act so much, knowing his mother would cringe if she caught him tarnishing the satin with his bare feet? Ha, he answered his own question. Speak of the devil. He heard a rapid knock at the door.
Impatient, as always, she didn’t wait for his response. Quick as a frog’s tongue, he pulled his feet from the pillow before he was caught. Not worth the argument while he was stuck under her roof.
Must be a clinic day; her unnatural platinum hair graced the tops of her shoulders and she was decked out in unwrinkled black slacks and a red silk top, impressive considering the ten-hour day and two-hour commute. She looked almost approachable on surgery days, her hair slicked back and face devoid of makeup, truly stunning without the fuss, but she didn’t seem to realize it. Those days were becoming fewer and farther between as she considered retirement.
“Grady, I am so disappointed in you.” She gracefully lowered herself onto the opposite end of the couch and smoothed her already-flawless hair.
“Sorry.” No idea what he’d done this time.
“Bill tells me you turned down Joseph Mathers’ divorce case, spent the afternoon on the ice, and then were off to your little beer hobby.” Yeah, that would disappoint her alright.
Grady ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than its usual disarray. “It’s up to me which cases I take, which I refuse, and my reasons for making those decisions. You wouldn’t operate unless you were confident in all aspects of the approach and potential outcomes.”
She sighed, the creases in her forehead almost visible. Botox must be wearing off. “You’re a capable attorney. I know you would have handled his divorce authentically and successfully.”
Grady rose to his feet and made for the exit. After the day he’d had, he really wasn’t in the mood for another of her lectures. If one didn’t stand up to one’s own mother by the time he reached his thirtieth year, when would he? He hesitated in the doorway. “I certainly could have, but it’s my decision. I don’t know where you get your gossip, but it’s none of your business how I spend my day.”
The man had been caught cheating on his wife. With his business partner. In the middle of his office. With the door wide open. And he expected to walk away with everything.
This is the shit Grady didn’t want to take on when he studied law. Yet, it seemed to be the type of case that landed on his doorstep most often, thanks to his parents and their uppity friends. When they’d paid for him to go to law school, they must have envisioned all the power they could accumulate by having his expertise and influence. And he knew she had visions of politics in his future.
Environmental law might have been cool, but any tree-hugging wouldn’t have reflected well on Bill Stellan’s timber empire. Tax law might have been interesting, but there wouldn’t be exciting cases in this small town. He’d considered prosecution, but he also didn’t want to risk putting an innocent behind bars.
“Wait, Grady?” Without a stray hair or catch in her step, she moved like a fucking jaguar to catch him before he was out of sight.
In anticipation of a cherry-on-top addition to her disappointment, he raised an eyebrow and paused at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t forget our family dinner tonight. Ryder’s home and has brought his fiancée.”
“Engaged? When did that happen?”
“When I spoke with him last week and told him how wonderful it would be if I could announce his engagement at the gala. As luck would have it, he’d just proposed.”
Uh-huh. Rather coincidental timing. And now his brother had yet another leg up on him. Engaged, with perfect timing for Patricia to claim her latest mother-of-the-year prize and renewed bragging rights. After they’d both graduated and started working, with no anticipated milestones to tick off, she must have run out of boasts.
Grady was not looking forward to meeting the fiancée. Like all the others, she was likely as much a showpiece for Ryder’s career as Patricia’s children were for her social status. Ryder wouldn’t care, as long as she gave a decent blowjob.
Grady shook his head and tried to clear the image. He still was haunted by the memory of Ryder getting some from Grady’s ex-girlfriend in the stables. Having no interest in horses, Ryder had apparently made good use of the stables over the years for other mounting purposes. Neither had seemed to care that Grady had been due home from college at any moment.
